Fan-fiction · Nier

Nier Automata: Fly By Wire

Going somewhat afield with Nier: Automata fic! Sometimes an idea just comes to you… and it’s borderline a canonical couple! 😡🤖💜🤖

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Vital signs: Clear.

6O kicked her boots up beneath her console.

Six minutes to atmospheric penetration.

The least interesting part of a mission – the part where she waited. It had already been a rough morning (insofar as there was morning, in the Bunker). 14O had turned her down. The Commander had chewed her out. And it had been so long

Pseudoendocrine Levels: Heightened.

That was normal, for atmospheric approach. But she had to make contact before they…

A smile passed behind her veil, and she opened a discreet channel, sending a signal to her companion’s chassis.

A ping zoomed through 2B’s perception, not unlike the static whine of a mosquito through her ears and around the circumference of her brain. “2B? You’ve got a couple of minutes, haven’t you?” 6O asked. “A couple of minutes, just for me?”

2B let out an involuntary shiver against the restraints of her flight unit. The opening of private channels conveyed a sensation akin to fine hairs raising on the back of one’s neck. In her head, a clear robotic voice echoed:

Parareproductive systems: engaged.

The remote activation of her reproductive systems was conveyed via her parasympathetic nervous system activating in kind, sending a flush of heat across her cheeks, as if in warning.

“I have six,” she responded.

“I’m going to need…” 6O’s voice flitted directly into along the curve of 2B’s mind. Her slender fingers flitted across her console. Increasing nervous system response… Heightening sensitivity… “All. Of Them.” She made a slow gesture, mimicking the pattern of the nerve endings she had begun to stimulate; the feeling of two gentle fingers sliding across the lips of her companion’s cunt.

A crackle of static. Responding to stimulus, the flight unit’s microphones activated, relaying the abrupt pant of 2B’s breath back to her operator.

“I understand.”

Likewise, 6O received the tender feedback of 2B’s hands, their long, adept fingers clenching around her controls. In flight mode, the suit left little room for its pilot to maneuver—for they required no room, with the assistance of a skilled operator.

6O shivered with delight as she felt the thrill of 2B’s fingertips up along her length, trapped as it was in its tight, humid prison. “You’re always so professional…” She grumbled, but not without pleasure. After all, the short, sharp pant of breath in her ear told a secret. A small warning flashed across her console. “I’m seeing a lot of debris on your path in, 2B. From a wrecked supply rocket. But that’s nothing you can’t handle, right?” With full confidence in her companion, she heightened sensitivity once more, and then, beneath her console, extended all four fingers – and thrust forward in a swift, dipping motion.

Adeptly partitioning her thoughts, 2B skirted a shining piece of metal debris spiraling in the small cloud shaping itself into new orbit around the moon; resources would have to be allocated to clearing it away.

“I am in control of the situation,” 2B replied.

To anyone but 6O, it might’ve sounded brusque. But an operator’s bond is a different sort of thing.

She smiled like a cat, her other hand toying along the console. After all, even compromised, 2B should be able to handle a small cloud of debris, no? She rhythmically pumped her hand, slowly at first, then more eagerly as she felt the give and then yield of flesh, hot, along her hand. “You certainly are.”

In response to 6O’s steady incursion, however, 2B’s body replied with a rather different opinion. The shriek of metal against metal, as 2B’s perception was briefly interrupted by spectacular force, her suit eliding along the length of a debris chunk. The mic crackled with an spectrum of fresh static, and her hands clenched blindly into twinned fists. 6O felt the hesitation and give of synthetic flesh. A tandem force welcoming her intrusion.

“Anh.” The moan spilled simultaneously across verbal and nonverbal channels. A feather-tickle of pleasure rippled down 2B’s spine, mirrored in 6O’s. They shared a cat-like writhe of constrained pleasure that only 6O, seated at her console and not in the bondage of a flight unit, was free to express.

6O tucked in her thumb, a little more depth with each thrust. “Slut.” Barely a playful whisper.

The phantom prickle of sweat bursting from pores assailed 2B. Her toes curled eagerly. Her thighs ached to spread against the metal shackling her body.

6O shivered, but not too wildly. It wasn’t as though other operators didn’t do this sort of thing. Even if it wasn’t exactly sanctioned… but, well, they’d been built with the functionality, hadn’t they? It would be a waste to let it rust.

“Transferring sensation.” She purred, and the sensation of her fingers faded from 2B’s cunt, an only-momentary reprieve before something warmer, more slender, firm began to press upwards. 2B’s lips parted around nothing, and 6O’s lips parted in silent pleasure, as she began to push into her partner, the danger on her screen secondary to the sensation.

2B’s fingers splayed wildly in their control harness at this slow, methodical entry. Her perception blitzed into several directions like the burst of an atom, and her throat bobbed as her partitioning between communications with 6O and control over the unit’s flight disintegrated.

“Switch…” She gasped. “Switching to…” Her thighs sought to grind one another, to trap the phantasmal warmth between her legs. Her eyes shimmered with phantom tears. “Switching to fly by wire.”

Alert: All Control Transferred To Operator.

6O’s lips pursed as the alert rang in her head; over the official channel, no less!

Impact imminent in five…

How irresponsible! Her thoughts echoed across space, the words “Horny bitch” resonating in 2B’s mind. She opened her eyes to see the flight unit on a collision course with a large chunk of flotsam.


With the echo of 6O’s teletype message reverbing over her view screen and back and forth the inside of her skull, 2B’s hips jutted upwards to accept both this recrimination of her, and the thrust of 6O inside her both.


“6O,” 2B humbly requested, and even her non-verbal communication was staggered and shaky,  rippling with the pleasure of ceded control. “Please engage.”


A bubble of a giggle pierced the silence on 6O’s end of the line. She formed her fingers into an arrowhead and thrust. 2B’s hips bucked again, she gritted her teeth. “Please engage… evasive maneuvAAH!”


6O took control, and pulled the flight unit up just in time for the jagged metal to scream beneath 2B’s form – and she felt the warmth around her cock shudder and contract in response. “Oh, I see…” She murmured, and her hips rocked as another chunk of debris came streaking in. “Impact imminent in three…”

2B must not have passed all permissions to the super user, as the unit fishtailed out, only very narrowly avoiding the debris with her operator’s assistance. She was panting, fogging the inside of the cockpit with useless breath functions, better shut off.

Yet they remained activated.

“We’re about to go public, 2B!” Her voice was its usual cheery self. A panting 2B gave a grunt of approval.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 40%

This is Operator Unit 6O. She flashed, across the public channel, heady with control. Unit 2B is in endocrinal distress. Overriding Unit 2B’s flight control and physical functions. Initiating recording function.

A call immediately came in from the Commander; she smirked and swiped it away, guiding 2B’s flight unit just out of the path of another chunk of ceramic and metal.

2B accepted the flaunting of her vulnerable status across the public channel like the strike of a flog against her rear. She dove into the sensation and cried out, and 6O, rewarded with a shiver along her cock, began the rhythmic roll of her hips. Ensuring safety of Unit 2B, she broadcast to a slowly growing audience of Operators.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 65%

A lance of audio jitter thrusted down 2B’s spine, the delay pooling in the regulator at her lower back as her body struggled to adjust to the spiking bandwidth requirements of her audience. The corona of Earth filled her view as she cleared the debris field. Every ripple and pressure of her body seemed amplified by the tomb of metal surrounding her.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 80%

She could hear the panting of her companion’s breathing, feel the rush of pseudoadrenaline through her system. The flight unit transformed as it descended, assuming humanoid form, its legs spread-eagling and allowing 2B’s own thighs to part, finally, as an unseen girl fucked her deep and hard. She could feel the way the android struggled in senseless, subjugated bliss against the complete control of the flight unit, of her own body, as 6O shamelessly thrust upwards.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 96%

2B cried out with the spread of her legs, the rearrangement of her lips. It was gradual, but to her it felt as if she were lashed at wrist and ankles.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” She begged.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 97%

2B’s hands flexed into begging claws against her restraints.

The marble of earth surrounded her.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 98%

With 6O’s possession of the full range of the flight unit’s capabilities, and the strict restraints that held 2B’s physical body, her bondage was complete. She’d tear this suit apart, burn to a cinder. If it’d just allow her to.

Hyperstimulus Capacity 99%

“Please…” she whispered to the multi-sonar array of microphones near her mouth, the lashings of the flight unit on her limbs shrieking with the strain of her flexing body.

That single, hoarse word shook the walls of the YoRHa command. 6O shone with joy beneath her veil.

Confirmed message recipients: Unit 14O. Unit YoRHa Commander.

Perfect. 6O made the barest gesture; a simple flick of two fingers.

Orgasm functionality deactivated.

2B screamed with need, her voice rugged and raw across the public channel.

Atmospheric impact slammed against her chest, real and bodily felt, and twining around the thrust of 6O’s spectral cock in a panoply of sensation. The heat of the atmosphere broke over 6O’s face as raging as if she were plummeting alongside 2B.

“Operator.” 2B struggled to return some semblance of professionalism to her voice.

Warning: Hyperstimulus Capacity 115%

The charade didn’t last. “Operator!”

Tremors of excitement synced with the chattering rumble of her unit slicing through atmosphere. The cockpit of the flight unit fizzled and popped in its struggle against the liquefying heat of reentry.

Emergency cooling activated.

The flight unit jetted coolant, reducing the heat on the external frame, but doing little to help 2B. Exposed to the elements, to the Earth, to her Operator, Commander, and all of her fellow YoRHa. 6O meticulously recorded each writhe, each neurological signal, each gasp.

Warning: Hyperstimulus Capacity 135%

The plaintive groan of 2B’s voice, too far gone for non-verbal, she squealed into the mic. “O-operator!

6O crowed in a soft sweet giggle, and 2B received her inward ram, once, twice, and a third time before 6O shivered and spilled all across her console. 2B’s body simulated the sensation, per 6O’s direction, and 2B’s inner workings exploded in white fire to the hot, damp feeling of 6O coming deep inside her, claiming her for the whole Bunker to see.

Warning: Hyperstimulus Capacity 155%. Critical Failure Likely.

The flight unit burst through atmo and into the cool air. 6O moaned with the slightest relaxation of 2B’s viselike cunt. She watched her descent, enjoying the rapid descent of her own biorythms in time with feedback of 2B’s panting, near drooling, with the phantom sensation of Operator cock still tucked inside her.

Its retro jets firing, the flight unit touched gracefully down on solid earth, its tonnage impacting solid earth with no more sound than a dropped feather, and 6O announced to their shared audience:

“Flight unit grounded. Unit 2B safe. Releasing restraints.”

The restraining binds of the unit hissed and separated. Released from her restraints, 2B impacted the ground with all the grace of a falling boulder, leaving an approximately similar crater in the process. “Please, 6O…” she moaned, legs folding and toes curling beneath her. “Please let me…”

“Restoring orgasm functionality. Playing back neurological log…” And with a quirk of her lips, she put the visual feed from the flight unit up on the screen, 2B’s blindfolded face plain for all to see. “Now.”

And in an instant, all of the little electrical impulses that made up 2B’s writhing, her physical ecstasy, poured back into 2B’s mind in a tsunami of sensation.

2B howled aloud, but regained enough sense to place her hands beneath her and push herself up onto her elbows, still panting and swimming from the forcible release of her orgasm while the flight suit steamed in stoic silence behind her, an uncaring obelisk. “More…”

And then the secondary log hit…

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